It was a beautiful day for the children of Curly Elliott to give their “pops” one last Father’s Day gift.

They scattered his ashes at sea, as he wished, at the exact same latitude and longitude as his late wife Charleen’s, so the two could travel the ocean’s currents together forever.

It was a touching farewell for an old Navy man who served his country and Los Angeles with distinction for more than 50 years.

He was dubbed “Curly” as a kid for a mop of curls that rivaled Shirley Temple’s. Even when they began to betray him and fall away to the bathroom floor, he remained Curly -– World War II combat veteran, LAPD police officer, and card-carrying member in good standing of our Greatest Generation.

I met him 15 years ago writing a column on the local chapter of the Pearl Harbor Survivor’s Association. They were 50 members strong back then — now it’s down to two with the passing of Curly last month at age 94.

In my business, you tend to get blinded by the big moments in a person’s life and let the little ones pass because you think they’re not as important, so who cares? With Curly, I was wrong.

As a combat veteran and a police officer, he had many big moments, but it was the little ones that made him a hero in his children’s eyes – the little ones that brought the most tears and smiles on his last Father’s Day.

“Because of his job as a policeman, pops did not have 9 to 5 hours,” said Curly’s oldest child, Patricia who was known as No. 1. His son, Bill, was No. 2, and his youngest daughter, Cheryl, No. 3.

Curly always had a problem keeping names straight, even his own kids. So eventually they took to assigning themselves numbers to make it easier for pops.

“During the summer months, I would wait up for him to come home at 2 a.m.,” No. 1 continued. “We would watch the old black and white cowboy movies with Cal Worthington and his dog Spot.

“As the sun would come up, we would sit on the little brick wall out front drinking coffee and quietly watching the sunrise. There were a lot of quiet moments between us, just sitting together, no need to talk. Just enjoying what was around us.

“He never said you need to follow these rules, or you need to do this or not do that. He taught us by what he did.”

Money had no value to her father, other than as a measure of what things cost, said No. 3.

“He was never interested in having a big fancy house and the latest model car. He wanted ‘enough.’ Enough to live comfortably, and help his kids and grandkids whenever necessary.

“Pops was always there. At a school ceremony, I would look to the back of the auditorium and see an LAPD uniform. He may not have been able to attend the whole thing, but he would sneak a few minutes away from the job to be there.”

His father had “serving hands,” No. 2 said -– a need to help whether it was fighting a war for his country, making his city safer as a police officer, or simply fixing a friend’s car engine, giving a neighborhood kid a ride to school, or driving 100 miles in the middle of the night to tow home a friend’s car that had broken down in the desert.

If you needed help, Curly was there.

“My dad never boasted about what he did,” said No. 1. “You would find out through someone else of his kindness. He made us all feel special and always took the time to spend with us.”

And now, the children of Curly Elliott — No. 1, 2, and 3 — stood aboard a Neptune Society boat out of San Pedro last Saturday, heading out to an exact latitude and longitude to give pops his last Father’s Day gift. A chance to travel the ocean’s currents with the woman he loved.

Dennis McCarthy’s column runs on Friday. He can be reached at dmccarthynews@gmail.com.